


The Consummation

by Josselin



Category: Captive Prince
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-18 23:19:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5947126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josselin/pseuds/Josselin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The king’s marriage has not been consummated,” said Herode.</p><p>“It has!” Damen said.</p><p>“So the king would be within his rights to put aside his spouse from the first marriage and to take a second.” Herode spoke calmly, as though his words weren’t directed at the spouse from the first marriage. </p><p>Damen stood, and leaned forward, resting his fists upon the council table. He opened his mouth.</p><p>Said Herode, “To be recognized by the council, and to bestow legitimacy to its issue, the king’s marriage must be consummated in front of witnesses.”</p><p>“Damianos,” Laurent said, quietly, a third time. </p><p>Damen still did not listen. “Then I will consummate it, and you will witness, and there will be no further discussion,” he said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Consummation

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Kings Rising!

They wed in a ceremony that was a combination of Veretian and Akielon traditions. A singer performed Akielon music on a kithara, and a poet gave a traditional Veretian reading. The poetry was sufficiently erotic to make the Akielons who understood Veretian blush in the audience, Damen himself included. 

Laurent wore a traditional Veretian outfit, which consisted, as far as Damen could tell, of no less than four jackets. He wore a cream-colored vest with gold buttons, a short jacket in gold with an elaborately laced collar, a longer jacket over the top of it with a puffed sleeve and gold-embroidered lapels, and then in deference to the cooler weather at Marlas that season, he wore a blue cape on top, also covered with gold embroidery.

Damen wore a himation. It was made of fine linen and edged with red and gold. He was dressed by squires who draped the fabric over the king carefully and adjusted the folds. It was traditional for a man’s mother to pin his himation on his wedding day, before she gave him over to his new family. If a man’s mother was not able to do this, it was a role fulfilled by his other relatives. A father, or sister, or brother. Damen had none of these, and after the squires had dressed him, Nikandros carefully placed the pin on his right shoulder to hold the garment in place. 

The feasting after the ceremony was a similar blend of the traditions, with spiced meats typical of Ios and an elaborate dessert confection from the bakers in Arles. There were no slaves at Marlas any longer to wave silk scarves and wish the wedding couple blessings as they walked off to the bedchamber, but some of the bolder members of the Veretian King’s Men wolf-whistled.

There was no discussion of the Veretian tradition of a witnessed consummation; Damen would not have tolerated it. No one even came to Damen with such a question. He had made his feelings on the matter clear enough to Laurent, he supposed, and Laurent’s changes to the council had them generally in awe of their new king and his new policies. If anyone had brought the matter to Laurent, Laurent did not mention it.

After two years, they made arrangements for an heir. Kashel visited from Vask, with a strong daughter perched on her hip, and announced to Damen’s embarrassment and Laurent’s amusement that now that her first daughter was weaned, she wished a second from the same father. Laurent--who had fewer qualms about bargaining with people than Damen seemed to--suggested that in exchange for Damen’s stud services (those were Laurent’s exact words), they should receive the third child. 

So four years after the wedding, they made a trip to Vask, and began to prepare for the arrival of the child. 

There was an ancient saying about how a man should be grateful that he does not attain perfect happiness, for those who are perfectly happy are then cursed to sadness. Damen had had his share of sadness in his life, but in the first four years of his marriage, he felt close to perfect happiness. Their lives were filled with work, and compromise, and Laurent’s sly remarks, but as they prepared to open their lives to a child, Damen felt that he had been generously blessed.

That was when the rumors started.

Damen was never certain where the rumors originated, and his network of gossip was not nearly as connected as Laurent’s, so they were in widespread circulation by the time they were finally recounted to him. The essence of the rumors was that a match between Torgeir’s daughter Princess Beatrice and King Laurent would make for a strong alliance between the east and the west. 

The Princess Beatrice had recently come of age in Bazal, one of the youngest of Torgeir’s brood. She had never been presented at the court at Marlas, nor, seemingly at the court previously held at Arles, but Estienne had seen a portrait of her done, and had recounted to the entire court an impressive ode to her beauty.

Damen laughed off the first account of the rumor that he heard, recounted to him by Nikandros one morning while they were relaxing in the baths. He laughed off the second accounting as well, which was from Jord on a ride. The third he brushed off with a wave of his hand, and when it came up a fourth time he said, “I do not wish to speak of it.”

His wish to not speak of it did not lessen it as a subject of gossip for the court. 

The following week, he raised the question with Laurent himself. They were breakfasting together on the balcony. Laurent’s hair had grown, and the breeze from the balcony was strong enough to almost tease it out of the braid he had tied.

“It is nothing,” said Laurent. “Do not think on it.”

Damen attempted to follow Laurent’s advice.

But the next day he overheard Vannes saying to another woman that if Laurent and Princess Beatrice were to have a child, then it could be in wedlock, whereas the other child was of course a bastard, and not even properly Veretian to begin with. Vannes seemed to be of the opinion that that was for the best, Veretian blood being thin. But Damen soon was hearing similar sentiments from others in the court who shared Vannes concerns about bastardy but had no such compunctions about theoretical Veretian weakness.

“The child might be better off in the Vaskian foothills,” Herode was saying one morning when Damen walked into the council chamber. He stopped his sentence abruptly upon Damen’s entrance. 

“What was that?” said Damen, and he could hear the hard tone of his own voice. 

“Nothing, your highness,” said Herode.

Damen broached the subject with Laurent again. “The gossip continues.”

Laurent made a dismissive gesture. “There is always gossip.”

That was true, and gossip was a quickly moving current which frequently changed direction. Damen reminded himself of the fickle nature of court opinion, and instead left the court for a three day inspection tour of the troops. 

When Damen returned, the wound had spread, and become infected. One of the court historians had produced a document from the Veretian archives--or supposedly from the Veretian archives, depending on who was telling the story. The document was a letter from Torgeir to Laurent’s father Aleron, agreeing to wed Aleron’s newly birthed second son Laurent to Torgeir’s first daughter, who at the time of the letter had been not yet born. 

The court was divided on their opinion of the document, questions were raised about its authenticity, about the reputation of the historian who claimed to have located it, about whether Veretian law had precedent that would have even permitted Aleron to arrange such a betrothal with Torgeir assuming it had even been a document that ever rested in Aleron’s hands. 

There was enough discussion of the document that Herode raised the question in a council meeting in front of both Damen and Laurent. 

“It is a fake,” said Laurent. 

“Even--” Damen began.

“Damianos,” Laurent said, a note of caution in his voice. Damen was usually well served by heeding Laurent’s cautions when he said them with that tone, but frustration overruled his good sense.

“Even if the letter were real,” Damen said, “It is a ridiculous notion that Laurent could marry a Patran princess; he and I have been wed almost five years.”

Herode tapped his fingers on the table in front of him. “The council does not recognize that the king is wed.”

“That’s--” said Damen.

“Damianos,” Laurent said a second time.

“--Ridiculous,” said Damen.

“The king’s marriage has not been consummated,” said Herode.

“It has!” Damen said.

“So the king would be within his rights to put aside his spouse from the first marriage and to take a second.” Herode spoke calmly, as though his words weren’t directed at the spouse from the first marriage. 

Damen stood, and leaned forward, resting his fists upon the council table. He opened his mouth.

Said Herode, “To be recognized by the council, and to bestow legitimacy to its issue, the king’s marriage must be consummated in front of witnesses.”

“Damianos,” Laurent said, quietly, a third time. 

Damen still did not listen. “Then I will consummate it, and you will witness, and there will be no further discussion,” he said.

The words echoed in the council chamber. Herode sat back in his chair with a small almost-smile. He raised his hands slightly in a disarming gesture as though to agree that there would be no further discussion.

Laurent massaged his own temple with his fingertips and called to adjourn the council meeting. When the council filed out, Herode looking particularly smug, Laurent said to Damen, “No, you stay.” 

Damen was still too frustrated to sit in his seat next to Laurent, so he paced around the edges of the circular chamber.

This would be the end of it, Damen thought. They would have to do this--ridiculous thing--but then that would be the end to these rumors, and to the endless speculation on the virginity of Princess Beatrice. 

“I was taking care of it,” said Laurent. 

“It’s done,” said Damen. He found himself frustrated with pacing in the direction he was facing, and turned on his heel and paced the other direction instead. Laurent stayed seated with the same relaxed posture he had had throughout the meeting, and only followed Damen around the room with his eyes.

“I wrote to Torgeir,” said Laurent. 

Damen sighed. He pressed his own palms to his eyes. “And?”

“Torgeir denies the letter.”

“Why didn’t you just--” There was no point. Damen dropped his hands and made another frustrated circuit. “Fine, fine, it’s done.”

 

It was nowhere near done. It was only beginning. Damen had envisioned what an observed consummation might be like, and he had pictured the council sedately seated around one of the elaborately canopied Veretian beds, and the whole matter could have been settled in a single afternoon. 

Damen did not know why he had thought anything in Vere could be settled in a single afternoon. Of course the complexity of the arrangements drew on for weeks. It took a week and a half to settle the matter of the decor for the viewing chamber, and then another two days reviewing damask swatches and selecting which cloth merchant would receive the contract for the royal consummation bedclothes.

Damen retreated from an absolutely terrifying debate where Makedon and Herode were attempting to choreograph their positions for the consummation, only to find that Vannes was meeting with Laurent to go over the seating arrangement for the viewers.

Laurent approved the seating arrangement, and dismissed Vannes. She hesitated. “Highness, there is also the matter of your clothing--”

“There is clothing?” said Damen.

“Later,” said Laurent, and Vannes bowed and left.

There was a moment of quiet between them. Damen felt Laurent’s gaze weigh heavy on him in that considering way Laurent sometimes had.

“Are you certain of this?” said Laurent. “I can arrange--”

“Yes,” said Damen.

Laurent waited. 

“I do not wish for there to be any question of our union,” said Damen stubbornly.

Laurent waited again, as though he expected Damen to come forth with something more. “All right,” he said.

 

For whatever reason of Veretian tradition, the consummation was actually scheduled in the morning. Traditionally the spouses were introduced for the first time after the ceremony in the viewing chamber, but in acknowledgement that the circumstances were not typical, Laurent and Damen were allowed to prepare together in the same dressing room. Laurent was wearing a silk robe. Even Veretian dressing gowns had a half-dozen more ties than Damen thought was strictly practical. 

The door between the dressing room and the viewing chamber swung open, and a servant indicated that the audience was seated and ready. Damen stared at the open door. He had stood at the front of battlefields against forces that far outnumbered his own, and his heart had not beat this quickly.

Laurent took his hand and clasped it warmly between his own. “Look at me,” he said, walking backward toward the viewing chamber and pulling Damen gently along. 

That was not a difficult command to follow.

Laurent had the bed curtains parted and was pulling Damen inside them almost before Damen even had a chance to take in the audience seated around the sides of the room. Damen saw Nikandros out of the corner of his eye, his friend politely keeping his eyes focused on the tiled marble floor.

Laurent pushed Damen down against the bedclothes. It was a type of Veretian mattress that Damen found extravagant. He sunk down almost a handspan deep into the fluff of goosefeathers covered in fine linen. Laurent opened Damen’s robe with the serviceable quick gestures he sometimes displayed. Then he pulled what seemed to be only one tie on his own robe, and it too fell open. As Laurent settled above him, the drape of the silk Laurent was wearing formed a secondary cocoon around the two of them.

Damen had started to wonder if he was even capable of consummation under these circumstances. Laurent leaned in closer to him, tugging his own robe further up his body so that it fell away from his lower body and up around their faces. Laurent’s hair and the silk of his robe fell against Damen’s pillow.

Laurent kept up a low voiced set of reassurances that was startlingly akin to how Damen sometimes heard Laurent speak to a spooked horse.

The fall of the silk around them left him surrounded by Laurent. Laurent’s voice was in his ear, Laurent’s hair touching his face, Laurent’s smell filled his nose. Laurent’s body was moving against his in a sinuous accompaniment to his words. 

Damen had never been able to resist Laurent, and this morning was no exception. 

Laurent straddled his hips, and balanced his weight with one arm, freeing his other hand to reach back behind himself. Damen expected his backward reach to be only a tug to bring Damen to full hardness, but Laurent used it to position himself. Before Damen realized what was happening, Laurent had seated himself fully. He must have prepared himself earlier, before Damen had joined him in the dressing room. 

“Laurent,” Damen said, helplessly whispering his name.

“Yes,” said Laurent, tilting his hips as he adjusted his weight on Damen’s lap. “Yes, show them that I am yours.”

Damen could only repeat Laurent’s name again, and his hips bucked, moving instinctively and beyond his conscious control. 

Laurent murmured whispered tendernesses, and moved with the same sweetly synchronized pattern that he and Damen often fell into when alone together. When Damen finished, with a cry that might have again been Laurent’s name, all he could see was Laurent’s face and the fall of his hair, all he could feel was the warmth of Laurent’s embrace, all he could hear was the encouragement of Laurent’s voice, and all he could taste was Laurent’s lips. 

***

Laurent could feel Damen finish inside him, pulsing, as he saw Damen’s eyes lose focus and he pressed his own lips against Damen’s. He saw Damen come back to himself a moment later, his eyes widening slightly and focusing again on Laurent above him. Damen’s cock was still buried inside him, pulsing with aftershocks, and Laurent tensed, briefly, to distract Damen.

Damen reached for Laurent gamely, prepared to see to Laurent’s pleasure despite his own obvious discomfort, but Laurent shook his head. He lifted himself off of Damen, suppressing a wince, and kissed Damen gently. 

“I’m going to open the curtains,” he said. “Duck back into the dressing room.”

He opened the brocade curtains--Charls had outdone himself as usual--and blinked into the sunlight streaming into the viewing chamber. A squire stepped forward from the side of the room to tie up his robe, and Laurent permitted this. 

There were a dozen things happening, and Laurent was worried that Damen would not take advantage of the escape he had arranged. Damen would probably, out of some sort of misplaced stubbornness, be still beside him when he turned. He was not; Damen had retreated to the dressing room as directed. Laurent was pleased.

The Akielons--Nikandros, Pallas--left the viewing chamber quietly, with their eyes still discreetly lowered. Makedon paraded out next, clapping Laurent on the shoulder as he passed. “Ha! Ha! Fine riding!” Makedon offered Laurent a celebratory cup of griva, which Laurent accepted.

Laurent endured Herode’s intrusive inspection to establish evidence that consummation had been achieved, and that Damen had not been simply faking his orgasm inside Laurent. Laurent then declined Paschal’s offer of a salve, and Vannes was the last to leave, with a disparaging comment on Damen’s stamina but an impressed remark on his size.

The servants entered to fetch the bedclothes for the official display, and Laurent gestured them on and retreated himself to the dressing room as well. 

He locked the door to the dressing room behind him, to prevent any interruptions. The lock clicked in the quiet of the room. Damen was reclined on a bench, one arm draped over his eyes. Laurent took another drink of the griva Makedon had handed him. He made a face, and set the cup down on the dressing table. It was still swill.

Laurent took off his robe, and hung it on one of the dressing hooks, and crossed the room naked. He sat down next to Damen on the bench. Damen must have sensed his presence when he settled his weight on the bench, but Damen kept one forearm over his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” said Damen. “I should have listened to you--”

Laurent interrupted him with a finger on his lips. “The thing you should be sorry for is that I have not yet had my turn.”

Damen let his arm fall above his head and turned his eyes toward Laurent. They widened slightly when he took in that Laurent was undressed.

“I am not sure--” said Damen, but Laurent placed a finger on his lips again.

“I can feel you inside of me,” said Laurent, thinking of the moment earlier when he anticipated wanting to help Damen through this quickly and had ducked away with a phial of oil. He reached for Damen’s cock and stroked it. “You can just lie there, and I will slide down on top of you again.”

Damen’s eyes were wide and dark with pupil. “You say filthy things,” said Damen.

Laurent laughed. He had heard filthier words before breakfast in a typical Veretian camp of soldiers. “After all, I am officially your husband now.”

He stroked Damen again, his words or his hand beginning to have a noticeable effect. “You have claimed me,” he continued. “Everyone knows that I am yours,” he said.

Then, judging that Damen was sufficiently prepared, Laurent straddled both Damen and the bench Damen had reclined on, and mounted Damen a second time.

The joining was faster the second time, easier, with Laurent still slick from the oil and Damen’s earlier spendings. Laurent sighed at the feeling as he seated himself, and guided one of Damen’s hands to his own cock.

“It is my turn,” he reminded Damen. 

“Of course,” Damen said, and he sat up on the bench, balancing Laurent still on top of him, and settled them into the new position. Both seated, they could kiss, and they did for several moments, tender movements of their lips meeting with a sweetness that seemed vaguely incongruent to Laurent with the fact that they were already joined.

Laurent smiled to himself, then moved his lips to Damen’s ear. “Vannes told me your stamina was--” Damen shifted their position and managed to fuck him slightly deeper. “Adequate,” Laurent finished.

“Adequate,” said Damen flatly.

Laurent nodded, suppressing another smile. 

Damen responded predictably to Vannes’s taunt, and changed their positions. His cock slipped out of Laurent as they moved, and Laurent sighed at its loss. Damen pushed Laurent down on his back on the bench, Damen over him. 

“And what do you say about my stamina?” said Damen, raising Laurent’s legs and settling them on his arms.

“I am still reserving judgment--” Laurent trailed off into a gasp of air as Damen pushed into him again, a short, quick movement. 

Laurent arched his back helpfully and Damen slipped in a bit deeper. Laurent closed his eyes. He had a hand-span of clearance before he fell off the padded bench in the dressing room, but he trusted Damen completely not to let Laurent fall on his head, no matter how many smart remarks he made about Damen’s stamina. 

“Perhaps I can influence your judgement,” said Damen, putting his hips to good use. Damen often favored languor in their lovemaking; Laurent was enjoying this vigor. 

“Perhaps,” Laurent agreed. “Perhaps your lovemaking will be different now that we are actually married--”

Damen’s thrust and facial expression told Laurent what he thought of that assessment, and Laurent laughed, and then he had throw his hands up above his head to brace against the wall and keep from falling off of the bench.

After the second time Damen had caused him to spill, Laurent acknowledged that he agreed with Vannes’s assessment that Damen’s stamina was adequate. After the third time, Laurent spoke more honestly, assured Damen that he was the most remarkable lover in the world, far surpassing adequate, and possessed of entirely sufficient stamina.

Laurent was breathless, and his hair was a complete bird’s nest of tangles around his head from where it had rubbed against the bench. His own spendings were on his chest, and his skin was flushed from their exertions. He didn’t need to tell Damen to look at him, now. He wasn’t sure there was anything in the world that would persuade Damen to look anywhere else. 

Damen was still grumbling about stamina and there was a look in his eye that told Laurent he was contemplating attempting to bring Laurent off a fourth time.

Laurent shook his head at that. “No, I can’t again,” he said, turning his attention back to his lover. He slid off the bench in a disorganized pile of limbs, and then, wincing slightly at a sore muscle, rearranged himself over the bench on his stomach, presenting himself toward Damen.

“You can,” he said, making the words and the position an offer.

Damen hesitated. He leaned in toward Laurent. Laurent turned his head to the side and pressed his cheek against the padded leather of the dressing room bench, looking at Damen back over his shoulder. Damen ran a hand up and down Laurent’s flank. His eyes seemed caught on the part of Laurent that betrayed their earlier activity.

Laurent shivered slightly. His eyes flickered shut. He felt Damen lean in and press a gentle brush of lips along his shoulder.

“It’s a ridiculous tradition,” said Damen, quietly.

“All traditions are ridiculous,” said Laurent. 

“This notion that spilling inside you is a marriage claim--” Damen was still speaking half to himself, but Laurent felt himself shudder at the words.

“Claim me again,” he said.

Damen groaned, and Laurent’s eyes opened as he finally felt Damen take him up on his offer. It was not the first time that day, and not all of the earlier times had been slow and gentle. As Damen slid in again, Laurent could feel it more intensely. 

Damen started slowly. “Are you close?” Laurent asked, not entirely aware of all of the words that were coming out of his own mouth. “We should have invited the council back for this, even Vannes would have to--”

Damen covered Laurent’s mouth with one of his hands, pressing his own mouth against the back of Laurent’s neck. “Your words will make me spill,” said Damen, his voice deep and wrecked. 

“Mark me as yours,” Laurent said mindlessly, and he wasn’t even sure what language he was speaking any longer, his words muffled by the strength of Damen’s hand in front of his face, but Damen obeyed nonetheless.

 

The following day, Laurent arranged for one of the servants to place a cushion on Laurent’s assigned seat within the council chamber. Damen was quieter throughout the council meeting than he often was, his eyes fixed on the table. Laurent conducted the meeting as if it were no different than any other meeting.

There was no discussion of the Patran princess.

**Author's Note:**

> There is art by Candy!!!! [And it's amazing.](http://cannedebonbon.tumblr.com/post/138906650849/speedy-doodle-based-on-the-consummation-by)
> 
> [All of the author's Captive Prince fanfic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Josselin/pseuds/Josselin/works?fandom_id=3516977), [come follow me on tumblr](http://josselinkohl.tumblr.com/)


End file.
